Tag: exercise

Posted on

New for 2024, when skincare becomes medical, how to furnish a home…

Release the wiggle

I used to be firmly in the camp that said, with absolute certainty, that new year’s resolutions are destined to fail, and rather snootily, destined to be made by people with zero will-power. But I write to you with my sincerest apologies. For it seems I might have been both wrong and a bit miserable.

Over the last few years, I’ve made some relatively big changes. All within the general theme of taking better care of myself. For me, most of 2020 was an absolute write off. While many people used the lockdowns to try to form new relationships with their bodies by exercising, learning new skills, and maximising all the time spent at home, I simply lost my mind.

In truth, I’d probably been losing my mind – descending into quite a nasty period of depression – for a few years. Sorry, hang in there, this isn’t all doom and gloom. But as we emerged into the brave new world of restaurants with tables 2 meters apart and washing our hands (did we wash our hands prior to 2020?), I decided it was about time I lightened up. And the first step in finding a better outlook on life? Getting some fucking exercise!

For me, it was all about walking. By the end of 2020, once I’d gotten over the fear of actually leaving the flat, and we were allowed to travel freely again, I worked my way up from a quick walk around the block, to regular 12, even 15-mile walks. But good things can’t last forever… mostly because the government’s furlough scheme was coming to an end and I needed to find a new job. And I couldn’t face the prospect of going back to a job with the very unsociable hours that had contributed to my unhappiness. So, by April 2021, when I eventually found my dream job (working from home), my routine was strong. Wake up early, start work around 7am, and finish at 3pm. Go for a walk, grab a coffee, enjoy the fresh air before it gets dark.

When January 2022 came around, I knew I was ready for more. I’d been dabbling with the gym for a few months at this point, so while it wasn’t necessarily brand new to me, I hadn’t actually made it a real part of my daily routine. I made the daring decision (drunk on all those exercise endorphins) to commit to going to the gym at least 3-times a week. I prepared myself to hate it, but to turn up anyway.

Well, I didn’t hate it. And surprise, surprise, getting 45 minutes to an hour of regular exercise every day does wonders for your mood. Who’d have thought that everybody was right about this? My own Mother was so smug, I couldn’t look at her.

For the last 2 years, exercise has become such an essential part of my daily life. It’s been the key to changing my entire outlook on everything. There is a remarkably simple truth to seeing how I feel about something after I’ve gotten some exercise. Nothing seems quite as daunting, or quite as impossible, once you’ve sweat a bit on the elliptical.  Setting that goal for myself at the beginning of 2022, to go and do something that brings so much joy (I am addicted to the feel-good chemicals buzzing uncontrollably in my brain), has brought pleasure back into every aspect of my life. So, if you’re thinking about setting a new year’s resolution (don’t worry, it’s not too late), or if you’ve already set one, let me be the first to wish you luck on your journey. And congratulate you for making the fabulous decision to take care of yourself.

Skincare and skinCARE

Listen, I bang on about the virtues of SPF to anyone who will listen. And it all harks back to my first time using The Body Shop’s Seaweed Cleanser and Seaweed Daily Moisturiser with SPF in uni. That feeling of every day luxury, in taking care of yourself, and basking in that shiny post-cream glow (steady on!) – it makes me so happy to be alive!

As a child, I was afflicted with the most heinous dry skin. So riddled with eczema was I, that I was, on more than one occasion, sent home from school due to the pain caused by my cracked and bleeding skin. Luckily for me, steroid creams got it under control, and by some greater miracle, I seemed to grow out of it. Or so I thought, until last week.

As a lifelong lover of the Winter months, I have something really quite embarrassing to admit. I now hate the cold, and I’m so sorry for getting this all so wrong. Summer is actually quite lovely. The miserable short days of winter are a disgrace. Over the course of about 3 weeks, a small patch of dry skin near my eye, led to patches of dry skin all over my face, and eventually my eyes being so swollen it looked like I was in the throes of an allergic reaction.

A quick video call with my GP and there I was, face-to-face with the old frenemy I hadn’t heard from in nearly 20 years. Eczema. At least that’s what the lovely doctor on the other end of the facetime call suspected. As it was on my face, he recommended I avoid cleansing for a week, and moisturise 3 times a day, applying a very mild (available over the counter) topical steroid. He also added I should take an antihistamine to help with the itching.

3 days later, not a trace of the dry, scaly, tell-tale signs of eczema were left. Praise be. But this also meant not being able to use my prescription retinoid (prescription for pure vanity, I might add). But all of my obsessive reading, watching, listening, and shopping had meant I was very well-stocked for a situation involving skin sensitivity. Real thanks to Aveeno for making some of the best, most gentle products on earth. AND for FINALLY releasing a daily moisturiser with SPF! AND IT’S BLOODY TINTED!

I’m the tacky one?

I want to leave you with a cautionary tale.

I hyper-fixate on many things: skincare, food, books, coffee shops, public transport. Having interests and hobbies is fantastic for a person’s overall sense of wellbeing, connectedness to community, and creativity. But what I’ve never had even the slightest interest in, is home décor.

I’ve always liked to think of myself as an enjoyer of the finer things in life. Scented candles, framed photographs, pretty mugs, you get the picture. A trip to Homesense lights a fire in me that is so frightening, it rivals the city of London on the 2nd of September 1666. But what I’d never developed was an aesthetic more complex than a colour palette of mustard and teal. If it’s mustard or teal, it’s fine by me. Stick it in the basket and I’ll find room for it once I get home.

What you can’t do when you’ve just bought your first home and need to furnish it, is just stick it in the basket and find room for it when you’re home. No matter how hard I tried. Rob, my parents, friends, all seemed united in informing me the one piece of information I’d always missed: that I am completely, and utterly, tasteless.

Posted on

Exercise, when you’re someone who doesn’t exercise

It can be intimidating to step foot into a gym where incredibly passionate (and incredibly buff) people go to maintain their huge muscles and tiny waists. But what I suspect, is that there is a sizeable population of gym users, joggers, and walkers, that don’t have a single goal in mind. People who aren’t particularly interested in transforming themselves into an Olympic athletes or marathon sprinters.

I’ve had so many conversations with friends, or well-meaning gym bunnies, who love to roll off platitudes like ‘well, everyone has to start somewhere.’ Which is certainly true. But what if you’re not trying to look good with your top off? What if you’re just in need of getting out the house?

I’d had a long break from exercise, years really, by the time of the first lockdown. In March 2020, in Wales, we were permitted a daily walk, as long as we set off on foot from our front door. And do you know what I did? Absolutely nothing.

For the first few months, I rarely left the sofa. The only exceptions were food, and trips to the bathroom. I was too afraid some days to even collect parcels. Thank God for the delivery drivers everywhere kindly leaving us our romance novels and bulk-bought spaghetti on the step. I’d even put my mask on for answering the door. I was terrified.

My partner, also terrified, but certainly less than I was, carried on heading out every day to work. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly aware of how ridiculous it is that I, a person who was paid to stay at home by the government, seemed to be having a rougher go of it than my social care worker boyfriend. But, some of us are built from weaker stuff.

It wasn’t until, probably August of that year, when things began to relax a little, and the prospect of a trip home to visit my parents, who I’d missed miserably and thought about every other second of the day, all year, that I realised: Oh God, it’s time to get out.

So, off around the block I went. Headphones in, podcast playing. While I’ve never been one to do anything by halves, that was really all I could manage. I’d spent so much time sitting around and doing nothing, that I was exhausted, physically and emotionally by a 5 minute walk to the end of my road, round the street behind us, and back round the other side. EXHAUSTED.

Still, for pure desperation and need for some inner sanity, I persisted and two months later, I was off for all-day, 10, 12, sometimes even 15 mile walks. From my front door to Taff’s Well, Pontypridd, even Newport city centre. How I managed it, I’m not sure. But what I realised quite quickly was how insignificant all of my worries became when I kept moving. For those few hours I was out the house, sense prevailed. The light was pouring in through the branches. The tunnel, well, the end was lit.

Why had no one ever told me that a bit of exercise could do this? That something as simple as a walk, could have the power to offer so much mental space, so much clarity, and floods of comfort? Okay, they had. My Mum certainly had, even Rob had suggested I’d feel much better after a walk and he’s more content with crisps and TV than anyone I’ve ever met. What I mean to say is: why had I never believed them?

For all of my moaning at the beginning, I do think the conversation around exercise is changing. Slowly are things becoming more inclusive, and as a by-product, more welcoming. Seeing someone who looks like you in a hoody and trainers goes some way to quietening your inner critic when you’re just getting started. But, here is where I need to admit that I was wrong. I’d always assumed that people who said they exercised for the mental health benefits were either one of two things: liars or addicts. And as someone who both didn’t believe them, and has been an exercise addict (oh, yes!), I couldn’t believe they were possibly saying something I needed to hear.

When I was 17, I lost a lot of weight (5 stone to be exact) in a relatively short period of time. I went mad for the treadmill, and long jogs in the sunshine. And I think, looking back, paid twofold for how extreme I was. Not just for the toll it can take on your social life, but for how it shaped such an unhealthy attitude towards food and exercise for the years that followed. So, as I went went away to university, drank lots, smoked lots, and ate even more, I began to stack it on.

By the time I’d finished my postgraduate studies, working as a part-time bar and retail supervisor, I looked and felt like an entirely different person. Not all for the worse, I’d met someone I loved, and we made a home together. I was also lucky enough to have an education that I enjoyed getting. But, I was also incredibly anxious, and trying anything to take my worries down from what felt like a 10 to a slightly more manageable 7.

Nearly 3 years ago when the world ground to a stop, I couldn’t have imagined how wonderful I was capable of feeling. 4 hour walks aren’t really an option now that I have an office job. I might work from home but there is only so much you can get away with. It’s nearly a year since I started going to the gym too, and I’ve been making smoothies and porridge like my life depends on it. And I’m truly not convinced I’ve lost a pound. And I don’t mind one bit.

What regular, moderate exercise has given me is both the balance I needed, and resilience, to feel equipped for handling stress. Now, I’m calm enough to enjoy every single day, and awake enough to take it all in. My starting point was a 5 minute walk around the block, and even if I still look exactly the same (though my haircut is certainly better than it was during COVID), I have to admit that those smug little bastards in Lycra might have been right: we all start somewhere.